


The Wolves, The Sun, The Lions and a Dragon

by MrsWilliamHerondale



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, BAMF Women, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragons, Ever - Freeform, F/M, First Fanfiction, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, R plus L equals J, Rape/Non-con Elements, Red Wedding still happens., Sand Snakes- book, Tags Are Hard, direwolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-12-01 04:47:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11478927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsWilliamHerondale/pseuds/MrsWilliamHerondale
Summary: What if Arya Stark had been caught at the gate of King's Landing after her father's death?Being forced to be the captives of the Iron Thrones and the Lannisters, Sansa and Arya Stark remain faithful to their blood while trying to survive.The Starks are pawns in the Great Game, and when winter comes-a-knocking the tables turns and everyone who wronged them will feel the vengeance of the Starks like the cold winter air. The Game changes completely with one more wolf-blooded girl who takes after her aunt.With a backdrop of murder, war, love, family and betrayal- the battle to survive has began. Remember that- Winter is Coming and when it does, the dead come with it.(kind of shit at summaries- but trust me, it is better then it sounds.)Temporary Hiatus. Should last no longer then a month.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey.  
> So- it's my first fanfiction ever. The idea just came to me one day, what if Arya had been caught with Yoren and dragged back to the capital? It also got really complicated as more characters got involved and I thought that some pairings could work really well together.  
> It's going to be the books and Tv show smashed together in some way which makes it easier to visualise in my head. Apart from that- Sansa and Arya are show ages (everyone is unless stated other wise) and Jaime+Cersei are book ages so around 33 years old. This forces Tyrion to be about 5-10 yonger then what he is portrayed in the show. Oberyn is also his book age which I am assuming is around 33 years old as well. So keep that in mind with the pairing.
> 
> Like I said, its my first fic, so please be kind, with little bits of helpful advice. and if there is anything major that seems wrong- please write a comment to tell me.  
> Also, reviews are welcome!

“Let go of me!” Arya yelled at the top of her voice, fighting against the arms that held her in place.

“Stop fighting, girl. Just be thankful that I didn’t restrain you.” His voice rasped. The only man who was smart enough to look at the people flooding through, both in and out, of the King’s Gate. The Hound took one look at the small child next to the Brother of the Night’s Watch and saw the hateful glare with icy grey eyes that could only belong to one person.

Arya Stark.

“You killed Mycah! Let me go!” The girl screamed, still fighting at the hands and arms of the Gold Cloaks holding her body tight. 

“The Queen will pay me good money for this, I tell you. Me- the Capitan of the Gold Cloaks. Finding the missing Stark girl. These Northerns won’t dare do anything stupid with two of them hostages by the Queen.” Another man’s voice spoke, his voice making Arya’s skin crawl.

“She won’t be paying you, Slynt. You did fuck all. It was me who found the wolf-bitch so it will be me who gets the Dragons.” The Hound’s raspy voice was drowned out slowly from the people in Flea Bottom chanting and yelling.

“Fuck the Traitor!”

“The Lord Hand is dead!”

“Ned fucking Stark is as honorable as the ground I walk on!”

“Joffrey Baratheon is my King!”

“Robert has met with the Seven Gods now.”

“Least I ain’t no traitor.”

With the voices going around and around in her head, each more menacing and cruel towards her dead father she snapped at the Gold Clocks softly muttering and laughing at her. “My father wasn’t any of those things!”

As the Hound threw her body into a litter, Arya cried a wordless scream as the lies about her father kept going. Ned Stark was an honorable man, who died a traitor’s death. She thrashed against the little door that remained closed, with tears running down her dirt stained face. While she moved her body, little tuffs of her hair fell loose from her skull littering down on her clothes.

Gods, she hated Yoren for being caught and for letting the Queen’s men find her. As Arya slowly sank back into the pillows that the litter had, she saw the Black Brother being cut into two as the Hound ran his sword into Yoren as he galloped past on his warhorse. She could hear her sister screams and cries as she tried to run to the Lord of Winterfell, screaming as loud as she could all the while her betrothed sentenced him to die. And lastly she saw the blood of Ned Stark running down the great sword Ice, the way his knees jerked and collapsed on themselves, his head rolling away from his body and the father Arya has always known that became no more in that instant.

 

OOooOO

 

“You found her?” The Queen’s voice was no more than a whisper as Arya Stark was led into a room full of the lion of Lannister plastered everywhere. It hadn’t taken long for the majority of the Baratheon Stag to disappear. The Queen wasn’t wearing black for mourning, but the bright crimson and gold that the Lannisters wore.

The bright colors of a proud house rather than a wife mourning the loss of her husband, a Queen mourning her King.

Cersei Lannister’s eyes were as hard as flint, even with the joyful glimmer the green eyes held within them. Her hair was braided into the style of the Crownlands, the pile of golden curls high upon her head. The golden crown she wore was decorated with the dark rubies, the colors of the Lannisters, the deep crimson like blood bleeding from the boy Arya had killed.

The younger Stark was in men’s clothing- loose breeches and a tunic. She was covered in muck and dirt and what looked like dried blood, with clear tracks on her cheeks that had been wet with tears not long ago. She had a weapon’s belt on her hip without an actual weapon in it. Chunks of her hair were missing and you could see the young girl’s scalp in places. But there was no denying the ice gray eyes that held the Queen is such contempt.

The Queen clicked her tongue. “This won’t do. Go put her in one of the dresses. Get her out of those clothes. Joff wants to see both girls when he shows them their father’s head. And I want them to watch my son sitting on the Iron Throne which Lord Stark fought so hard against. Go and give the girl to her sister. Sansa could always obey what I told her. Let’s see if this one has that little talent.”

The girl spat at the bottom folds of the dress that Cersei wore. The Queen smiled dangerously before a hand darted out and smacked the girl on the cheek. “It’s clear you don’t have your sister’s stupidity but-” the older women moved closer and voice dropped even further down “-but if you do not behave yourself, I will see to it that you are raped until you are bleeding, by men who wouldn’t give a fuck in the world if you were to die from your injuries. I will see to it that you watch your sister get beheaded as well and the downfall of House Stark.” The Queen to King Robert Baratheon stood back up and smiled daintily. “Leave now. Oh, and Clegane, I will see it you that your get rewarded so heavily for finding me this little… wolf.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would take a toll on her- that’s for sure but the Mad King Reborn would forget about his anger without the screams that pleased his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read, commented, bookmarked, subscribed or anything to do with this work! Like I said, it is my first fic ever so it made me really happy and excited to see everything.  
> Also as it was commented on by devans15- there are a few mistakes in spelling and grammar- so just let me know!  
> And if anyone is looking to be a beta, give us a shout out in the comments.

The King sat on the Iron Throne, with flatten golden hair that his golden crown filled with dark rubies sat crookedly on and green eyes burning with passion. The doublet of crimson silk with the golden lions sewn into them was seen by Arya as she stood below the dais where Joffrey sat. He didn’t even pretend to be Baratheon. The only thing that name had given him was a Throne. Everything else was given to him from his mother. If Arya squinted hard enough, she thought she could see a little of Tyrion in him. But today the Lady Arya Stark was standing stiff as her sister’s betrothed was eying her off.

_Fear cuts deeper then swords._

She wished that she still had Needle with her. That the Hound hadn’t just grabbed it from her hands as if it was a practice sword and snapped it over his knee like it was wooden. Or then just thrown it into the street for the poor to squabble over the iron that made Needle. Arya had wished that she had a tunic and breeches to wear. It made it easier to move and run. And didn’t make her feel like a dress up doll. The dresses that she had brought from Winterfell had started to fray down the bottom and showed her ankles when she moved. Sansa was given expensive and elegant clothing as she was going to be Queen one day. Yet Arya had no use for her to get new dresses- unless you counted being a prisoner.

 _Robb and mother can still come and get us,_ Arya had though. _And I’ll go see Jon. I miss Jon and the way he used to call me little sister before messing up my hair._ She quickly knocked away that thought. _I’m sounding like Sansa with hopeful dreams._

The two Stark children had never gotten along. They were like the moon and the sun. One liked being on horseback and the other refused to be near horses unless she could be in a wheelhouse being dragged by them. Arya Stark liked her Needle and parrying with someone, and Sansa Stark liked to sit with a bunch of ladies (which was expected of the future Queen) and sew new designs on a piece a material that would make a dress.

They didn’t even look the tiniest bit similar, Sansa looked all Tully and Arya looked nothing but Stark.

And Sansa’s betrothed looked nothing but Lannister.

 _A Lannister bastard born out of incest and lust between the Queen and her brother_ , the small people would mutter whenever Arya snuck out of the Red Keep. She had even heard some of the highborn lords and ladies talking about it, and the fact that Joffrey seemed more and more of the Mad King with every passing day.

_Fear cuts deeper then swords._

She had heard what the last Targaryen King had done to her uncle and her grandfather. They called Brandon the Wild Wolf. He had died being strangled trying to reach his sword to save Rickard from being cooked alive in his armor. Both her uncle Brandon and grandfather Rickard had died terribly that day. It was the day that her father had become Lord of Winterfell and the day that fueled the North to rebel against the Mad King. That and her aunt Lyanna who was said to have looked like Arya did, who was stolen by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Eddard, who searched for his sister desperately only came back North with a body. She wondered if King Joffrey was to anywhere that crazy.

_Fear cuts deeper then swords._

“Did you hear the news, you spawn of a traitorous Lord? Did you hear that your brother the self-declared King in the North won against my grand-uncle? Beat him at Oxcross. He left the army still faithful to the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, in pieces and my kin dead! DID YOU HEAR?”

When the golden haired boy raised his voice, Arya noticed that he slammed his hands onto the blades that formed his Throne. She doubted that even Joffrey knew that the blades had cut him, blood spilling on his hands. The crimson liquid dropping slowly, onto the blunted blades that had once defied Aegon the Conqueror.

“Did you hear what I just said?” The King shouted.

“No.” Arya said.

“No, _Your Grace_.” Joffrey corrected. “Ser Mandon, please show that Lady Arya to remember her courtesies. It’s something that her sister always seems to remember. It must only come out in the traitor’s blood, the _Stark_ blood.” He said 'Stark' like it was a curse.

The fist that hit her stomach, wasn’t soft or dulled by the layers of wool that her dress was made of. The air was pushed out of Arya’s lungs as Ser Mandon Moore pulled back his arm again. Arya vowed that she wasn’t going to call out in pain. It would only fuel Joffrey with this treatment. It would take a toll on her- that’s for sure but the Mad King Reborn would forget about his anger without the screams that pleased his ears and fuelled his desires to see pain.

She thought about Winterfell as the flat of the sword was hit across her legs and back, the edges cutting her dress and skin. She thought of her brothers that she had left behind and her mother who was now the mother to a King. Robb would be planning how to defeat the Lannister Armies, so he could defeat the young King on the Iron Throne and take back his sisters. Jon would be training with his sword- proving to all the men at the Wall how skilled he is with it. He would range beyond the Wall and then ride up to Winterfell to tell her all about it- the Wildlings, the mammoths and even a giant if he saw one. Bran would be climbing the towers and walls around there home and little Rickon would be pretending to ride his horse, something he had always loved. Blood filled Arya’s mouth as she bit the inside of it to hold back any sounds of pain.

The sword struck again and again.

Things wouldn’t be like that. Bran would never climb again. The sword stuck again. Jon wouldn’t be welcome at Winterfell if her Lady mother was there to rule over the castle. The blade stuck on the back of Arya’s legs. Robb would be planning how to win a war not winning his sister. Rickon… little Rickon… would be crying over the loss of his family- the father that never came back, the mother and brother in the South, the brother covered in black and the sisters that are stuck with the Lannister.

The sword struck again. And again. And again. And again.

“Enough.” The King’s voice cut across the silence. All the Highborn Ladies and Lords, sat in silence as their King disciplined a child. A Stark- who had ‘traitor’s blood’ but a child nonetheless. “I think that this Stark has learnt her lesson- but her sister has not.”

The color Arya’s face drained as she realized what Joffrey had meant. As two White Knight’s grabbed Sansa, who obediently walked with them to where her betrothed pointed. Arya was lifted to her feet by the Hound, only to fall onto her knees. She screamed at the bastard child that sat upon the throne who was hurting Sansa- who had always been pure and innocent. She yelled out the Kingsguard who followed this command so stupidly. But within moments, Sansa was crying louder then what Arya was yelling. Cersei Lannister sat by her son, with a small smile playing on her lips. Arya had stumbled to her feet before running at her, ready to hit that smirk of the dirty Queen who had slept with her own brother when Sandor Clegane had lifted her of her feet.

“Trust me she-wolf. You don’t want to do that. Let the little bird get her hits.” His voice rasped into her ear. “The Queen Bitch will get it back one time or ‘nother.” He carried her out, as Sansa screamed and sobbed swearing only to be faithful to her beloved Joffrey, having nothing to do with Robb’s action- swearing that she wasn’t faithful to him anymore even with her traitors blood. Not even her sister. Only faithful to the King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the dis-jointed scenes from both chapters may annoy some people but I didn't really want to write everything that would happen. It's not the focus of the story and if anything major happened during this time I will write in a flash back. Besides, it is all canon up to a point.  
> It won't last for much longer either- only until Oberyn Martell shows up at King's Landing


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It didn’t matter that she was forced too because if it wasn’t her it would be Arya. That couldn’t happen. Even if it meant it was sacrificing herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos, comments, bookmarks and subscriptions! 
> 
> So, it's been over a week since my last update- I haven't got much of this story written which means updates will be all over the place. But I do have the next chapter written already! 
> 
> Again, just let me know if there is anything major wrong or any grammar mistakes. This isn't beta-ed read so there is bound to be a few even though I have re-read this at least 5 times.
> 
> But, enjoy!

The Stark maiden cloak wasn’t made out of wool like it should have been- like the Northers would have had it. Instead it was in silk, with bits of velvet that made the gray direwolf and little pearls in the snowy white field it was running on. The Direwolf seemed to have been cowering more than running.

_I feel like that direwolf, bent over in submission. Bowing to the lions and roses rather than howling with freedom and the power of the North._

The cloak befitted a maid of Sansa’s standard but it treated her as a Highborn Lady of the South, and not as the North. Regardless whether she would step foot past the Neck again, it felt wrong denying where she had come from. Even though she was from a traitor’s family.

_Silly girl_ , she snapped at herself. _You’re complaining over a cloak, it will not be the worst thing to happen tonight._ Cersei had told her the detail of a bedding, and it still made the Red-haired feel ill.

After seeing her father’s head being cut off- Sansa Stark had a new meaning for family. She couldn’t let Arya step into her place, not willful Arya. So here she was in a dress, beaded with pearls, bits of ruby and emerald with the entire thing made out of cloth-of-gold. It was as if they were showing who she belonged to now. She hated the dress, gold that screamed out; the stupid patterns on it and the stupid jewels- she hated everything on it.  Sansa didn’t get the choice to wed, the dress to wear or even where to marry; but it didn’t matter that she was forced too because if it wasn’t her it would be Arya. That couldn’t happen. Even if it meant it was sacrificing herself.

The autumn heat in King’s Landing was uncomfortable, even with the sleeveless dress. It didn’t help being carried in a litter covered in curtains and wearing the heavy dress. _They_ didn’t think it was appropriate for her sister to walk her down the sept even though she was her only family left. The Lannisters hadn’t even let Arya come to the wedding in case she did something- Joffrey fought hard against it, probably wanting to beat her again over nothing- but Tywin had put the foot down. The Highborn didn’t need to see the Stark unity. Instead, the brown haired girl was locked into her room with guards at the door and Sansa was dressed in this monstrosity and was to be sold off like a brood mare.

_I was always the tamer wolf_ they _said._ The maid thought emotionless. _Tyrion is going to claim my maiden head, and my body. I will bare his lion children who will be heirs to some of the biggest and best castles in the Seven Kingdoms. They will be kin to kings. They will be lions cubs with a wolf mother. I won’t love Tyrion, but I will love my children._

The litter stopped, and then the King was opening the door for her. He offered his arm and she took it. After all it was expected of her, and you couldn’t refuse the king.

Joffrey pointed to the top of the Sept stairs. “I killed your father over there.” He said, laughing manically. “Fitting that the heir to Winterfell gets married to a Lannister where her father lost his head after fighting against our reign.”  He laughed again.

_You’re not a Lannister_. She wanted to scream. But he was nothing _but_ that, the family she was going to be kin too. The family she was going extend with her own children.

Instead, she just nodded her head. “Of course, Your Grace. Funny how these things work out.”

 

OOOoooOOO

 

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger."

"I am hers..."

"I am his..."

"She is mine..."

"He is mine..."

"From this day until the end of my days."

 

_From this day until the end of my days._

 

OOOoooOOO

 

Sansa Stark had died- and Sansa Lannister was born. Lady Tyrion Lannister. Tyrion Lannister, the Imp. He was now her lord husband.

He had wed to her and now they would bed.

Arya would likely marry Ser Lancel (or Ser Jaime the Kingslayer if Tywin had anything to say about it) and he would take Arya’s maidenhead and she would be caught in the same trouble Sansa was in.

She wished that Arya would run away. Or that they both would. To be away from this place full of liars and Lannisters and players in the game of thrones. Away from Joffrey and Kingsguards in soiled white clocks. But that’s how Sansa Stark would have thought.

 Sansa Lannister had to be a great beauty that made up for the lack of a handsome husband. She would be as graceful as Margery to woo the small folk and lords and ladies alike,  she couldn’t afford to be a naïve little girl who was a pawn in the great game but a cunning women that could rival Cersei Lannister being the mastermind of the Game.

But the first thing that Lady Lannister wanted was to get out of the city of King’s Landing. That hadn’t changed along with her name.

She wanted to return to her mother’s loving arms and father’s booming laugh when he had too many cups of wine. She wanted Lady at her side, and Rickon and Bran running after each other. She wanted to hear the clash of steel as Robb and Jon sparred with each other.

She wanted to peruse the dream of safety and family back in Winterfell.

 But it wouldn’t be like that. Not with Father killed at the Sept of Baelor, Robb and mother seceding the North and Riverlands, not with Winterfell burnt alongside her two younger brothers. Not with Jon covered in black. Not with Lady beheaded that same way Father was.

Now, all she had was Arya. Sansa would do everything to stop them hurting her. Regardless of her name- being a Stark or Lannister, or bloody Tyrell- Sansa would put her family first in order to keep the she ones had left alive. She would die for this mission.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. That’s what I want them to see. Dorne as it has always been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So another week gone by. Thanks for every and any subscriber, bookmarker, viewer, comment-er and kudos-er. It is all very welcomed.   
> Here is the chapter where Oberyn Martell finally gets to King's Landing. 
> 
> Please remember that all characters are aged to be there show counterpart- apart from Oberyn, Jaime, Cersei and Tyrion. Oberyn is 33, as is Jaime and Cersei and Tyrion is about 28 ish.

The massive doors lead into the Throne Room, where Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne was announced with the rest of his party. All of them loyal to Doran and himself; each man and woman with holdings and keeps of their own; each of them with the power to raise thousands of Dornish fighters.

The message was thinly hidden. To show the might of Dorne; the force of soldiers that was overlooked; the power that kept promises and threats- the power that could make even the Lannisters cower.

Oberyn was wearing his orange tunic that left a clear section of his chest bare for everyone to gasp at. Even with all his years traveling across Westeros, it still made him laugh about how the Highborn and lowborn alike gaped at the lack of modesty in Dorne. The more scandalized women would call him uncivilized because of it- the way he dressed, spoke and acted.

The Viper also wore loose breeches that were brown with a little red woven into the material. His cloak reached his shins, the yellow being stitched with large Suns of Dorne in orange.  On his hips, he wore a weapons belt carved with the Martell Spear and Sun with two empty scabbards where he kept his daggers. Even though Oberyn was asked to enter the presence of the King weapon-less, hidden in his boot was a dagger gifted to him from his eldest daughter, Obara.      

There was no doubt to where this man had come from. Or which House he was from. The Sun and Spears told it all.

He wanted the court to see him- _Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. That’s what I want them to see. Dorne as it has always been._

Oberyn’s eyes were drawn to the floor of the chamber, the place where he imagined his sister’s body had been laid down with her children- innocent little Rhaenys and babe Aegon- their bodies covered with the crimson and gold cloaks of House Lannister, the crimson hiding the blood that was spilt in the murder and still leaking from them. He stopped walking for a moment, closed his eyes briefly and cursed Tywin Lannister for ordering his dearest sister to be killed.

_The Old Lion will get the revenge that is owed to him._

He loved her deeply- and it still pained him to think of the brutality of her death. Or her children’s deaths. No one deserved a death like that- she had been shamed in life by Rhaegar Targaryen and shamed in death by The Mountain, The Old Lion, and the Butcher King.  It wasn’t either Lannister or Baratheon who brought her bones home with her children- but Eddard Stark who was disgraced at the actions of his king approving the murder, and went against his King’s wishes to return Elia home. Doran had to tell Oberyn this- years later once the grief had lessened, when the Viper had asked how his sister had been returned.

_I will get justice for them. For Elia. For Rhaenys. For Aegon._ These words went through The Red Viper of Dorne’s mind like a mantra. _For Elia. For Rhaenys. For Aegon. I will get justice for them._

When he looked back up to the seat next to the Throne, Tywin Lannister wasn’t sitting by the King’s seat but his daughter was. She looked at him with plain disgust and the smirk of that screamed of Tywin, playing on her face. Her crimson dress was too tight- he could see the bulges of skin bursting out from her corset, her breasts large but fleshy and loose. Yet the Queen Mother sat there proudly, as if it was her birthright and not her son’s.

_For Elia. For Rhaenys. For Aegon. I will get justice for them._ _Martells keep their debts as well as Lannisters._

Two White Knight’s stood on either side of the Throne -their white amour shining in with the sunlight pouring in from the windows- guarding their King. In the middle of them, the seat of melted swords sat a man child- with a loaded crossbow on his knee, eyes burning with madness and his crown slipping on his head. Following the direction the crossbow, Oberyn Martell could see a young girl with plain brown hair being beaten by a third Kingsguard, the flat of the sword hitting the material and flesh of her back.

The temper the Red Viper was known for appeared. “MY KING!” he shouted.  As the Prince looked around the room, he could see the pale faces of Highborn Lords and Ladies alike that were all ruled in fear. None dared to speak against the King. None but him.

“You are speaking to your King.” Cersei snarled at him as he walked closer to the girl on the floor, her hands gripping the arm of the Hand’s chair tightly.

“You are speaking to a Prince, Your Grace. My title _is Prince Oberyn_. Mayhaps you have forgotten.” He said without it processing and the Queen’s face dropped into a scowl.

_Fuck. Doran will be angry when I tell him about this._ It was the only thought that went through his mind before he focused back on the blondes in front of him.

“Prince Oberyn. It’s good to finally meet you.” King Joffrey spoke, his eyes glimmering emerald as he lowered the crossbow from the girl and handed it to one of his Kingsguard. He looked nothing but Lannister. But if Stannis was right, there wasn’t a drop of Baratheon blood in him. The Lannister spawn didn’t even bother wearing the stags of his 'father'- only the roaring lion.

_Roaring with delight and victory. Gods, aren't lions smug little bastards._

“What is the meaning of this? What has the girl done to get the wrath of the King?” Oberyn asked bitterly.

_Dorne don’t hurt little girls._

“Joffrey was being an ass to Sansa.” The girl muttered loud enough for Oberyn to hear yet no one else.

“The Wolf-bitch defied me, the entire family are traitors and this one is not different. Arya Stark lives at my mercy and off the generosity of _me_ the KING! And I have disciplined her as I see fit.” Joffrey smirked as he stared the girl down.

This is a Stark. No red hair maiden that was spoken oft about but the one that looked like Lyanna- _The girl is Arya Stark. Eddard Stark’s daughter._

With a flick of his hand, his squire Daemon Sand walked over the girl ( who appeared younger then she was) and went to offer her a hand- an offer to be lead to her rooms. Instead, his hand was pushed away from the girl by herself and on shaky feet she stood. Now the girl was up on her feet, Oberyn could see her better- could see the shoulder length hair of the girl, the stormy grey eyes that were as hard as flint. Her mouth was pulled in a tight line as she bowed to her King, her tormentor. As she bowed, he could see the red welts from the flat of the sword and the little trickle of blood in several spots as the sword bit into her skin. The dress of pale grey- _I should have realised it was a Stark_ \- was ripped badly and peeled away in strands from her ill-fitting corset, also cut many places and falling apart.

She turned away and past The Viper and he grabbed her arm. “My Lady. Please let me give-” _you my coat._

She pulled out of his grip at once. “No.”

Most Highborn Ladies believed in stories of chivalry, knights and falling in love at first sight…The stories that portrayed kindness rather than the harsh truth. But he hadn’t met a Lady quite like the one in front of him before- refusing to be carried out or to have a coat to cover herself up- instead she walked on  her own two feet out of the room, a silent resistance to the Lannister’s who had been treating her as such. Letting everyone who had sat there in silence as she was beaten, see injures she bore because of it.

It made Oberyn smile to see the originality of the girl who protested about what she was forced to endure- rather than just letting it happen. A snap from the Lannister Bitch brought him back to the situation at hand.

“ _Prince_ Oberyn. You don’t have the power to let the girl leave. How dare-” Her face showed the fury that she was in because he had undermined her son in front with the entire court to witness it. Her voice started to raise and change pitch when the Viper cut her off.

“Your Grace,” he said addressing the King -the mad little thing he was. “wouldn’t you rather hear about your sister settling into Sunspear and meeting her betrothed  then talking about an insolent child of the North?”

The King ended Court for the day, ignoring the sighs of the people as their requests were delayed for the morrow, and walked to the small chamber off the Throne Room. “Shall we talk in here, Prince?”

_For Elia. For Rhaenys. For Aegon. I will get justice for them for the wrongs that were done._

_For the little girls beaten- and shamed- I will fight for them. No one else seems too._

_I will fight the Lannisters sitting on piles of gold and pride who allowed this to happen._

The rage shimmering beneath Oberyn’s skin pulsed with every step he took with the King and his whorish mother.

_It’s not only the Lannisters that pay their debts- your lion claws may be out but the Viper has fangs and poison. Don’t forget that. I sure will not._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Arya and Oberyn finally get to meet. I will say, I really enjoyed this chapter and how Oberyn wouldn't allow something like the beating take place. Especially not where his sister was laid after she had been killed, and where she had been forced to be a captive 15 years ago.   
> I just had a lot of fun writing it!  
> Reviews are welcome as always.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Stark girls torn from their families and a war that simply might be justified...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments, kudos and subscriptions!   
> I didn't mean for it to be so long between updates but... time just got away from me. 
> 
> I also don't think I have mentioned, but Oberyn arrives in King's Landing about two months earlier then he does in the books/show. And Sansa is currently aged 16.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

King’s Landing stayed warm during the days and faded away during the nights, but it never had that raw and dry heat that Oberyn was used to. The feeling of complete warmth and having the sun kiss your skin like a lover would. The Red Keep wasn’t cold but didn’t have any _heat_ to it.

Heat; passion; pleasure; enjoyment; freedom and lust- it was all the things that Dorne had- but not here. Instead there were liars who smiled to your face, the walls that had ears and no matter what you were doing the eyes that seemed to follow you.

Plus the place smelled of shit. It also had smells of unwashed bodies from peasants and rotting seafood…. but mainly of shit.

The Prince of Dorne had been in King’s Landing for less than a week and it had been too long already. The nasty people who were trained in betrayals and back stabbings, the king who was as mad as Aerys, the Small Council who were all Lannister men, and the Highborn -who had allowed such an outrageous thing happen to small children as they were beaten and shamed in front of them all. The place where his sister had died hadn’t changed with the passing of Kings and the fall of a dynasty but had just become worse.

 _Sure there aren’t burnings of people and tongues being ripped out from mouths, but we still have the bastards who hurt little girls and hide behind the red bricks of the Red Keep as the rest of us fight in war._ Oberyn Martell thought to himself as he walked down the stairs from where his room were outside the Keep. _We still have the Lannister’s fighting for power, the Baratheon’s bitter about the rights of the Throne; we have little Stark girls torn from their families and a war that simply might be justified._

_A war that simply might be justified… a war that simply might be justified… and what role will we play in the wars to come?_

The halls were filled with men in brown and dark clothing, women in loose dresses of every colour that showed nothing by the standards of Dorne. _Of home._ The bannermen and bannerwomen around the Viper were all picked from Doran, who had spent many hours and many favours getting them to follow Oberyn to the lion’s den, where their own were slaughter years beforehand. Ellaria refused to stay with the children at Sunspear. In her feisty way, which included much begging and eventual threats she had been allowed to follow her lover into the dangerous Crownlands.

She was his companion at nights where the cool air could be felt on their skin: on the trails that wet mouths had left, on wet and heavy breasts and on their naked bodies as they pleasured themselves and each other. Breathy moans and hoarse yells sounded all through the nights and sometimes into the mornings, but Ellaria wasn’t just there to be his whore. Oberyn’s paramour was much more than that. She was the mother of half of his children, she was the only person who could help him through Elia’s death, and she was there to massage his shoulders after a long day. She acted like his wife- even without the title that came with marriage.

Ellaria Sand was the only women (or man) that had the power to hold Oberyn together on the days he couldn’t.

Lost in his own thoughts and reflections, the Red Viper of Dorne tripped over a man as he turned around a corner. A very small man who looked extremely pissed off to have been overlooked in such a way - embarrassed and ungraceful enough to have fallen on his ass in front of the Viper.

“My Prince. Regardless of being a Lannister who you despise, I do not appreciate being tripped over.” The Imp said as he stood up, dusting himself off with both of his hands, his golden pants with dirt spotted on them.

 The Dornish man took a breath and started to play this word game that was so common around this dreadful Keep. “My Lord. I-” Tyrion Lannister cut him off instead, something Oberyn had rarely experienced being a Prince.

“You didn’t see me, you apologize. I understand. But I needed to talk to you. I have heard you have been inquiring about the Lady Arya.” The smaller man guided the taller one to the gardens (that were in the Keep, a little walk between the rooms for the Dornish and the gardens themselves) which were filled with small blossoming flowers in colours of white, blue, red, pink and yellow.

Even after seeing the gardens at Highgarden, Oberyn could still admire the effort and simplicity these gardens held. All along the paths were hedges coming up to the waist on him, being broken up by rose and pansy plants  with the small occasional water pool that was not for bathing like the Water Garden’s back at Dorne.

“You see, as one of Lady Arya’s only kin it is my responsibility to make sure she isn’t being… bothered by unwanted attention.” The Imp said.

“Did you see them beating her?” Oberyn asked, pulling out a flower from the nearest bush picking the petals off slowly. Tyrion had the grace to look almost sheepish at the taller man.  “I thought you might have. I thought it might have happened before. _You_ see, no one looked like it was a scandal, or that anything was wrong. _But we don’t beat little girls in Dorne_. Your niece is my brother’s honoured guest- and she isn’t harmed regardless of her family.

   “Yet we have Stark girls who are beaten by _kin_ whenever the King pleases. Your father hurt my sister, he sent the orders for her to be raped and then killed. _He_ sent the orders from my niece and nephew to be murdered so _he_ could please Robert Baratheon. We would have taken them back home and kept them safe under the raider but your father wanted them _dead_. Here we stand, these Northern girls getting beaten constantly all because of their family. An echo of what happened to my own.  And we haven’t hurt a single hair on Myrcella’s head. ”

The more he spoke, the louder the Prince got. The louder he got, the more passionate he got. With more passion in his voice, the Prince’s words slurred with the accents of Dorne. The end of the speech was barely understandable for a Westerosi that didn’t originate from the same place the Viper did.

Oberyn Martell took a deep breath. “The Butcher King wronged-”

“Your sister, niece and nephew. But he wasn’t Joffrey and Joffrey isn’t his father. We are still trying to make amends for that, Prince. I wasn’t responsible for their deaths. I was only a blameless child at the Rock. Please allow me to speak. ”

Tyrion Lannister looked flushed after his outburst. He waddled away from the taller man, without looking back. His golden pants reflecting the light as it bounced off the material. The crimson and black doublet tailored to fit correctly had little lions sewn into them in golden thread.

 _The Little Lion of Lannister._ Oberyn thought suddenly and walked after the Imp.

“My Lady wife has been taking care of her sister with her injuries-” the Lannister said after a while of wandering paths of stone, bordered by hedges and flowers that only bloomed in autumn in the Crownlands. Oberyn recognized several plants that were seen in the North and Riverlands during summer and spring the atmosphere in the Crownlands ripe for them to bloom.

“Lady Wife? I never thought you would be the one to marry, Lord Tyrion. Too interested in whores from what I’ve heard…. Did you enjoy make the heir to the North your wife? Faithful to the Crown, faithful to the Lannister she was forced to marry. How was she in bed? Did you enjoy rapping her and taking the maidenhead from a girl of only 16 name days-?”

As quick as he could manage Tyrion Lannister was standing in front of the Red Viper of Dorne, face to chest. “If we weren’t surrounded by Littlefinger’s and Varys’s spies I would have slapped you.” He grit out between teeth. “I have not touched my wife. Sansa Lannister remains unbedded and with a maidenhead. If you wish to ask her, do so. I know how much you despise the word of a _Lannister_. ”

_I think I shall like this man. Lannister or not, he isn’t atrocious like everyone else is in this awful place. And as much as I wanted to aggravate him, I feel slightly sadden about his words._

“What were Lady Arya’s injuries?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to ask her herself?” Tyrion spat out as he backed away from the older and taller man.

 “Begging your pardon-” the Viper asked.

“You see, Prince Oberyn, I visited to let you see the young Lady. With you asking about her consistently I thought this would draw less attention. And so you could see her yourself rather than dismiss the word from myself, a Lannister.”

A flash of anger went through Oberyn. “And you didn’t tell me this earlier. You made me go on a walk instead. I have better things to do, _Imp_ and I don’t need you wasting my time.”

The Lord said nothing as he continued to walk out of the gardens and into the halls and turns of the Red Keep. The blurry faces of servants who rushed past in a hurry and the Highborn folk wore their very finest to impress the King on his twisted barbed chair. They all looked at the Dornish man with scandal and awe. How someone so important could act so… recklessly, they all thought as they stared him down wearing his modest tunic and breeches.

_It’s all laughable really. They never can wait to get underneath someone’s skirts in the nights but can’t bear to see the fraction of my chest that I have on display. They act like it is my cock that isn’t covered up._

After too many turns and stairs for Oberyn to count, Tyrion Lannister stopped before a small weirwood- looking door, pale white wood with a brass door handle.  There weren’t as many windows or openings around this part of the Keep. It was all quite secluded and dark- something that Tyrion should not have been forced to put up with as a Lord Paramount’s son, or as the King’s uncle.

“I made you wait because you were blaming me for the wrongs done against your House and House Stark. I am not a good person, Prince Oberyn Martell. But unlike the rest of my family, I haven’t plotted and planned the fall of another House….”

Tyrion’s green eyed gaze seemed to fade away into the distance for a moment or two until he shook his head and refocused, the golden hair on his head swishing over his forehead slightly with the movement. The scar on his face and nose were visibly red and agitated.

“These girls… Both of them are broken and bent. Don’t expect them to be as lovely and graceful as my niece would have been. Sansa is obedient and does what is expected of her. That is how she ended up with me- because she was told to. Arya Stark on the other hand, is nothing like her sister. Regardless of beatings, she doesn’t have any restraint when it comes to Sansa or the rest of her family. Nor does my lady wife but in an entire different way she acts.”

“What is the point of this My Lord?” He found himself asking. _Why are you telling me how broken these children are? Why do you put their tragic past on my own?_

“I don’t want you to expect anything else.” the Imp said simply, before knocking on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, reviews are welcome. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can’t touch her. Don’t make her show her scars to either of you. Please don’t. She can’t fight for herself while she is like this. Please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and subscriptions!  
> Comments are always welcome!

_The wounds on Arya’s back are healing slowly_. Sansa observed as her sister slept. Arya’s injuries were still causing her pain and stiffness a week after the beating in front of the King’s Court _and_ in front of the new Dornish visitors.

After the first few beatings, Joffrey had forbidden any maester to help with healing and recovery from the wounds inflicted by the Kingsguard.  It was only Sansa’s handmaiden Shae that stopped the cuts for being infected and the welts from scarring. The handmaiden did this for both girls- spending much more time on Arya then the red-head.

For Sansa, the beatings were always softer but dragged out longer with the taunting that the King enjoyed. Threats of harm and sibling’s heads were used for her. Family was a weakness in the Crownlands and for Lannister’s; they knew Sansa had a duty to her family. She was half a Tully after all.

So they used it against her. Mocking the words of her mother’s House.

She couldn’t do anything to save her _family_ ; the forced _duty_ she was made to have to her king, her husband and to the Lannister’s; she had lost her father’s _honour_ in a moment of blind stupidly, and quite possibly her own. It taunted her every day. _They_ taunted her everyday with the mockery.

For Arya, the bashes and beatings were frequent and painful. Joffrey wanted to see the girl in pain, and she wouldn’t allow him that until she was half-unconscious. The scars from cuts by swords were much deeper on the younger girl’s back then on Sansa’s own.

The cries and moans from her weren’t often but when they arose, they were terrifying. The King and Ser Meryn both liked to beat Arya much more then Sansa- they wanted to see how long until she broke; until she cried out and swore treasons at the King.

The middle Stark child refused to back down. Calling Joffrey Baratheon out on everything she could, regardless if it meant herself being hurt in the process. The wolf- blooded girl cared more about undermining and embarrassing their captors then being beaten to death in front of the Court. She wanted to die fighting and resisting.

 She wanted to die like a true Stark-

-And that meant everything to Arya.

 The only thing that got the brown-haired to calm down was when they forced Sansa to take some of the beatings on Arya’s behalf. It was something that the elder girl had wished for, to protect her sister. Arya had the same idea. Which was why Cersei had started doing that- it hurt both Starks with either situation. The question was -which Stark did they want to hurt physically and which one mentally.

_They still call me a Stark after my marriage to one of their own…_

_My sister refuses to bend or break. She wants to go out like father did. I want her safe, she wants me safe. And that can never happen until we are out of this Gods-forsaken place. She will never be free if she marries a Lannister, just like I am now trapped._

Still staring at her sister’s sleeping body; Sansa was startled by the sudden appearance of Podrick Payne in the bedroom. She had left him by the fireplace in Tyrion’s solar where the boy was reading. _He was her husband’s squire after all_. Tyrion had left their rooms about an hour ago wordlessly after Bronn had come to report something.

_I like all these people Tyrion has around. Pod is kind and shy and innocent. He makes me smile oft and makes Arya laugh loudly. Bronn is brutish and rude but he protects Tyrion and always brings back sweets from outside the Keep for both me and Arya. He is blunt and truthful- he lets us know how the world really is. Both Bronn and Pod act like siblings around one another too._

_How Robb and Rickon would act from time to time back at Winterfell._

“My lady- Lady Sansa- I mean, _Lady Lannister_. Tyrion- Lord Tyrion is back. He asked- _requested_ you to come to his solar.” The squire said in a frantic bundle of words, tipping over them as each new one fell from his mouth.

Sansa Lannister rose from her seat next to the bed smoothing out her red skirts as she followed Pod into the next rooms. _Tyrion would have news about my family_ , she thought taking a deep breath. “You can call me Sansa, Podrick. I don’t mind.”

The first thing she noticed was the Dornish man sitting across from her Lord husband. His skin was dark and tanned, his brown hair was as dark as the desk that he sat at and the loose orange tunic had a section of bare chest that showed dark ringlets of hair on it. It was scandalous around King’s Landing. Shae had told her about the customs from Dorne and the Free Cities. Even so, it was hard not to stare at that and how confidently he seemed- it was something that Sansa would have never seen in the North.

He wore shin high boots that were brown leather and looked as unforgiving as the man himself. Lady Lannister noticed that he wore a necklace with the Sun and Spear of House Martell. Quickly realising that it had been far too long that she hadn’t said anything, she bowed with a quick apology to her Prince.

“It is alright. I am not the ruling Prince of Dorne and title doesn’t matter to me as much, Sansa Stark.” The Prince said his voice thick with the accents from his homeland.

“Lannister.” The maiden quickly corrected. “I’m Sansa Lannister now. My Prince” She walked to the chairs that had been set up near the middle of the solar, not far away from the desk where both men sat at.

“Of course. I am Oberyn Martell, you must have heard about me by now. I must say, I haven’t seen you at Court.”

She felt a slight blush rise upon her cheeks. “I have been… I have had a womanly affliction recently, and have been feeling-”

“Your moonblood, I’ll assume.” She felt her blush redden further at the boldness of Prince Oberyn. “Your husband has told me that you remain unbedded. Is that true?”

Sansa nodded slightly. She looked at her husband and found his green eyes staring back, a flicker of relief in them. Tyrion smiled slightly, almost to reassure her. It wasn’t doing a terrible job.

Podrick entered though the white door that lead out to the hall. She hadn’t noticed that the squire had left, but he came back with a tray of sweets and cakes and a pitcher of wine. He struggled slightly as he placed it on the small table in front of her and she grabbed it for him.

 What she didn’t notice were the other two men in the room staring at her, both surprised at the kindness of the former Stark girl. It was something rare in this place.

They ate with minimal chatter and Sansa sensed that there was something that her husband was skirting around telling her. The Prince asked her many questions about Winterfell and her family. It was a subject that she wanted to avoid at all cost and she tried to keep up the façade of indifference. It was when he asked about the war that Young Wolf was raging Sansa had almost lost her composure. Her hand started to sweat and the golden goblet engraved with lions slipped out of her hand nosily onto the table.

She replied with the standard- “I am only loyal to King Joffrey and Lord husband Tyrion. My family are traitors and should throw themselves at the King begging for mercy.”

Oberyn Martell had just raised an eyebrow at her, and glanced quickly at her husband before taking a sip of the dark Dornish wine.

“Sansa,” Tyrion began gently. “Prince Oberyn would like to meet your sister. He feels -”

“I can speak for myself, Tyrion.” The Prince said smugly, before he turned to the girl at the table. “I saw the girl at Court the other day while the King was… disciplining her. I offered her my assistance but she refused. I would like to meet with Lady Arya and see how she is recovering.”

“She is sleeping. My Prince.”  She spoke quietly, while she hid her shaking hands in her skirts.

 _You can’t touch her. Don’t make her show her scars to either of you. Please don’t. She can’t fight for herself while she is like this. Please._ The thoughts in Sansa’s mind started to get rushed and hysterical.  _She is only a little girl._

“We aren’t going to hurt her.” Tyrion said, pressing a hand to her own. Blinking, she realised that she had spoken her thoughts. “Prince Oberyn knows quite a bit about healing essences and salves to help. We just want to help her. Will you please go and request her presences?”

_Look what happened the last time someone got near her. She was beaten and beaten while I had to watch. I heard her yells, and I heard her screams when the blades turned to me. I had to hold her when everyone left because she was so inconsolable. I was the one who stayed near her while everyone else wanted to ruin us._

“I’m not asleep anymore. Sansa’s screams woke me.”

 

 

Tyrion held his wife by her shaking hands as if he could hold her together bythat.  He shouldn’t have asked her, he should have just sought out Arya later maybe by inviting both Arya and Oberyn to a supper. He had definitely fucked up this situation. Something about her family, and Sansa would be as protective as a lion with a cub.

A wolf with its pup _. Not a lion, she is Stark through and through. Even with the war ragging on and a husband she thinks to be an enemy. Both Sansa and Arya are wolves. Both are of the North._

It was only the timely arrival of the younger Stark that stopped Sansa from losing it completely. Although, Arya _was_ wearing white underskirts and a tunic that was coloured a light red that he had given her.

With an inward groan he spoke. “Arya, you should go back and get your proper clothing on, please.” He looked back at Sansa whose blue eyes never strayed from her sister. Just for a moment, Tyrion wished he had a sister who cared for him as much. Then reality hit him in the face, the wish shattered with Cersei left behind.

The girl didn’t move, but Podrick Payne walked over to her and handed her his dark crimson Lannister cloak. She smiled at him, which made the poor squire blush badly. The Stark walked away from the door, adjusting the cloak as she went to the seat next to Sansa.

“It’s okay. She is okay.” Tyrion murmured for his wife’s sake. “I won’t hurt her, and neither will Oberyn. He does have daughters around the same age as you both.” The Imp pulled away from his young wife, and leaned back into his own seat.

The Elegant Wolf seemed to calm down slightly. He dawned on Tyrion slightly, that Sansa didn’t trust Oberyn with Arya. It was a fair judgement- not to trust the people you don’t know with the person you love.

“Why were you sleeping in Sansa’s chambers?” Oberyn asked.

“She sleeps in there when she is… indisposed. She uses my handmaiden’s skills with healing to help her.” Sansa said softly, looking to the Prince.

“So she has been in here since I arrived, my lady?”

The red haired maiden nodded.

Oberyn spoke again. “Where have you been sleeping, Lady Sansa?”

The girl blushed as vividly as her hair. “With my Lord husband-”

“I haven’t been sleeping with her. I have been on the chair in our room.” Tyrion snapped at Oberyn at the same time Arya spoke.

 “They haven’t consummated the marriage.” The Stark girl said as quietly as she could.

 _Like I would be alive if I have. You would have slit my throat, and Shae would have helped you._ He thought, looking past the red haired beauty at Arya.

“I had to ask again, Lord Tyrion.” The Dornish man smirked taking a drink from his cup. He turned to the girl on his side. “Lady Stark. How have you been fairing?”

“Do you mean after the King beat me in front of his entire court again? Oh, I'm splendid. Prince Oberyn. I haven’t been able to move in days and when I do all I can feel are the scabs from my back ripping open again.” The small girl took a sip of the wine, shrugged her shoulders and gripped the cloak around her tighter.

 _Fuck. Arya Stark, you will be the death of us all one day.  By telling that to one of the most unreliable men in Westeros met, I can’t decide if you are very bold or very stupid._ The Little Lion of Lannister thought to himself in the awkward silence.

“ _Arya_.” Sansa screeched in a hoarse whisper. Her face was paler than usual, and she was staring at the Viper with open horror. “You must forgive her my Prince. She mustn’t be feeling well. She wouldn’t dare say anything like that if-”

His taller and younger wife had learnt to play the word very well indeed, masking her intentions and meanings by pleasant and pleasing ideas and suggestions.

His lady wife was cut off with a laugh from Oberyn Martell who was known around all Seven Kingdoms for his short temper. Tyrion saw Sansa freeze with fear; she knew that fact as well as he did. “Oh, Lady Lannister. It was a tactless thing to say in this place, but she is telling the truth. I have _not_ taken offense and I will _not_ be telling the King, rest assured.” He bowed his head slightly to the married Lady. The brown strands of hair falling over his forehead slightly as he did so.

The Viper turned his body at Arya. “I must say, you have an honesty that you no longer see in these Kingdoms. It is refreshing.” He lent back, crossing one of his legs on the other. “But if you need any healing salves or whatnot, please ask. I did forge 6 links of my maesters chain back years ago.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was it the brother that would have let you fight in the mist of it all because a fire of vengeance in your stormy grey eyes. Which King are you a traitor too, princess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update this week! You'll might get another before Monday as well, depending how I go.  
> Kudos make me smile- and comments make my day. Don't be afraid to ask questions or predict was it going to happen. It'll be fun!  
> Cheers

Arya was wearing one of the old dresses that Sansa had brought from Winterfell. It was too long for her; the heavy white woolen undercoats were dragging along the ground as she walked, the light blue and grey material that was blended together perfectly was too hot for a King’s Landing autumn, her body slick with sweat that pooled in between her little breasts underneath a bodice that was too loose and didn’t grip onto her stomach which nothing but skin and bones.

She looked like a little child playing dress ups with her mother’s gowns. Something that Sansa had done back at Winterfell many years ago. Arya had not, preferring to play with her Father’s clothing and weapons. Pretending that she could fight and not sew like the rest of the women.

The bodice was stitched with the fish of House Tully, jumping around on her stomach in what looked like a flowing river of silver, grey and blue threads. The slight flicker of red could be seen on the fish if the sun was reflected well. There was no possible way Arya could sew something like that- and Sansa couldn’t do it herself. The sewing was something both Sansa and Mother had done together before _everything_.

 _I miss her. I miss her yelling at me after I skipped lessons with Septa or her criticizing my wonky stiches yet again but as she sat down with me in the halls of Winterfell and explained how she did it so perfectly._  The girl of fourteen name days thought to herself.

She hugged her arms across her body, keeping the familiar sewing of Lady Catelyn close to her heart and her chest. Something she was sure Sansa would have done until it was traitorous to be a Stark or a Tully, blood or sympathizer to the rebellion.

 _It’s not a rebellion._ It is war. _Something House Stark started but House Stark has lost the most from. A war that House Tully jumped at when it was first announced but House Tully is currently being torn apart due to it._ The She-Wolf thought. _At least House Lannister loses too. At least they are losing this war. Whether Sansa and I see the end of it remains in the hands of a mad child-king._

The last Stark held a little section of parchment in her right hand, crumped up from the fist she was making. It had been dropped in front of her the other morning while she was breaking her fast with the Prince and her sister in a dining hall with all of the King’s current allies in King’s Landing. Everyone who was someone was dinning in that hall. Ellaria Sand who lent over the table and pretended to fix the girl’s hair had dropped it. Tommen who had taken a liking to the youngest Stark girl, hadn’t even noticed the little bit of parchment Arya slipped into her sleeve as the Dornish woman left.

_Go to the Kingswood when the moon is new._

_Only after you have eaten your midday meal._

_Tell no one._

There wasn’t a signature or a sigil on the note but it was pretty clear who had sent it. After all, Ellaria Sand wasn’t seen oft away from Oberyn Martell. Arya hadn’t even told Sansa about the meeting either. She didn’t want the lecture that would be given from it.

_It is like Sansa is trying to replace Mother while she isn’t with us. All I want is my sister. She would have just… acted like Cersei towards Oberyn and this meeting. She would think me vulnerable. But I can protect myself._

The man was different. He proved the contrast between the Northerns and the Dornish. Their voices both thick with the dialects from either end of Westeros, his skin was dark and hers was pale white. He wore revealing clothing even in autumn and Arya was bunched up with skirts and dresses appropriate for a Northern’s summer but much to heavy and hot for an autumn in King’s Landing. He pointed out how different one end of the land was to the other; especially in the little meeting Oberyn and Arya had attended with Tyrion and Sansa about a moon ago.

 _Is different bad?_ A little whisper with the teasing but honest voice of Jon Snow said in her head. She pushed it away as she ignored the guards at the bridge over the Blackwater and walked into the Kingswood.

And saw the flash of orange and brown that she expected.

 

 

 

 

 “Princess Arya.” Oberyn Martell said, bowing his head slightly. It would be unseemly to bow completely to someone with his own standard.

The girl was visibly shocked. “Don’t call me that.” She said her voice strong. “I am not a princess. I am not even a lady.” Arya took a breath and then murmured. “I am disloyal to both my house and my King. A traitor, if you will.”

Oberyn had to strain to hear over the chirping of ravens and other creatures from the Kingswood. “Which King?” he asked quietly, only heard by himself.

_Which king are you a traitor too? Stannis, who should be on the Throne rightfully after the Butcher King? The Butcher King’s supposed son with his golden hair and green eyes, who is keeping you here as a captive? The Old Kraken whose son that lived like a brother with you only to killed your real ones?_

_Or to the Young Wolf who you wish to be with? To be fighting for the injustices that the South had brought against your House the day they took your father’s head.  The brother that would have let you fight in the mist of it all because a fire of vengeance in your stormy grey eyes. Which King are you a traitor too, princess?_

Ellaria had chosen this moment to speak. “You are a Princess. Of the North. Regardless of being caught in the politics of it all, you should still be allowed your title. As should Sansa, as the heir to the Northern Kingdom.”

His paramour had worn a dress similar to the rest of the Crownland women. Something that she found restricting but looked stunning in, the loose and long sleeves that hung to her hips with her arms not risen, the massive collar that stood up much further than her neck. And it was all in a deep maroon colour that brought out the brown in her eyes and the skin paler then his own. The sight of Ellaria looking so- formal- and discreet (something she did so rarely) made Oberyn’s cock twitch slightly.

“Why did you call me here?” The Northerner asked, turning her head slightly as she looked at both himself and his paramour.

His lover walked closer to the girl. “We needed to talk and not be overheard. Varys suggested here, your sister visits quite frequently.” She drawled out the accent of Dorne, trying to intimidate the She-Wolf. Ellaria put a hand on the girl’s shoulder and stood up to her full height. “Why don’t you come here and pray like she does?”

The Stark girl’s eyes flashed their stormy grey. “The Old Gods don’t reach this far south. That’s what my father-” she shut her mouth quickly as if she had said too much. Mentioning Eddard Stark wouldn’t be helpful in this place of lies and betrayals and slaughter.

After a moment of silence, the girl still refused to speak. The Viper pulled out a small dagger from his boot and started to twirl it around his fingers. It was true that his preferred weapon was a spear, but daggers were the next item of choice, especially with his own skill with them.

“We can get you out of here.” He said softly, the blade of the weapon never scraping the skin on his hands. Arya Stark’s eyes were drawn to dagger, her eyes widening.

“How?” She asked.

“You aren’t going to like it.” Ellaria said honestly as she walked back to his side.

 The brown-haired girl smirked. “Try me.”

 _Oh, my dear, how you will regret doing that._ He thought as he opened his mouth.

 

OOOoooOOO

 

“Absolutely not. I _will_ not. I will not be forced.” Arya Stark said as she paced across the woods. Her oversized skirts tripping her up every so often and she fell once, slightly embarrassing herself and her pride but she had refused to be laughed at -glaring at him as if to dare.

“It’s your best option.” Ellaria said again for the fourth or the fifth time.

“It is not-”

Oberyn rolled his eyes before he snapped. “It’s either that or the bed of a Lannister supporter. And you will be stuck here. In the place where your father was killed by the brat on the Throne. If it isn’t me, it will be Lancel Lannister or Jaime _fucking_ Lannister or-”

His lover placed a hand on his arm. “Oberyn…” She spoke. Unsaid, she warned him to stop talking. Something she had done oft in the place of Lannisters and the word game that was played.

The Red Viper of Dorne focused on the last Stark.

 _For how much longer?_ He thought distantly.

 The girl he had seen over a moon turn’s ago was back. The girl, who stood up in front of the court, half naked, refused his help and ignored the blood that dripped from her back. The vengeance and anger were back on the girl’s face and eyes. It lit her face up. 

“You just want the claim I have to Winterfell.” The She-Wolf said growling. “The claim I have to the North and the babies I will be forced to bore if I am with you. I will not-”

“I do not need children from you. Not even with your claim to the North.” He spat back at the girl. A girl less than half of his age. “I already have daughters of my own. Daughters who were raised with the Dornish sun glowing on their faces and away from this _game of thrones_ that is played. I will not touch you.”

“Why?"Why do you want me?Her eyes screamed out.

“We do not hurt little girls in Dorne.” He spoke thickly in the accents of his birthplace.

Arya Stark looked at him, and then to Ellaria. Her gaze stayed on the other women for much longer, as she assessed her. As if she expected his lover to disagree with him. “I... can’t. I can’t leave Sansa like that.” She said finally.

“I think you need to speak with Sansa about it, little wolf.” Ellaria said softly as if she was speaking to Loreza back at the Watergardens and not Arya Stark in the Kingswood in King’s Landing.

Brown hair flying as she moved, she nodded violently before fleeing out of the woods, practically running in a very unlady like fashion.

The Red Viper of Dorne wrapped an arm around his paramour, burying his face in her tanned skin as she stepped in front of him. There wasn’t anything sexual about it, but a silent plead for comfort and a _thank you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it is might be happening with Oberyn and Arya! Let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> both of them bonding could be more support House Baratheon has if the North tried to raise one of the Starks to royalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter so soon.  
> It's my birthday today so here is my present to you!  
> I don't know when I'll update next though, I am writing this as I go.  
> But enjoy!

“Tywin Lannister.” The Red Viper strolled into the Hand’s solar without knocking or getting a page to announce him. His red and yellow doublet clashed terribly against the Lannister crimson that the room was covered in from top to bottom.

_It’s as if the Old Bastard needs to prove that Lannisters are the new Targaryens. Gods, that cunt’s pride needs a taken down a notch or two._

“I want the girl.”

The Old Lion didn’t even look up from his papers. “Which girl?”

“Arya Stark.” Oberyn said in his heavily accented voice. _That_ girl.

“ _What?_ ”

The Viper smirked. “You heard me. I want her.”

It was now that Tywin Lannister put down his letter and looked out at the Dornish man. Oberyn knew what he was seeing- a renowned half-mad man still vengeful about his sister’s death along with his niece and nephew, who is now wanting the girl that could start another rebellion if this one was to end with the wrong side winning -the Lannisters winning.

“Take a seat.” The younger obeyed. “Why do you want the Stark girl? You never wished to marry and you have your… paramour-”

“Ellaria. Her name is Ellaria and she is my lover. We Dornish wonder how all you Westerners and Northerners and Crownlanders shame love? In Dorne we celebrate it; we don’t hide behind words to show our passion... Nor does it matter what standard someone is born. It doesn’t matter if a lover is Sand or a Highborn Lady. Its love and lust and it is what we become when the pretences are stripped away.” _When we stop playing this game. It’s what I love about Ellaria._

The King’s Hand looked at Oberyn, his pale green eyes looking annoyed and bored. _Did I ever see those eyes after Elia and not want to give him the worst poison I have and make him suffer?_ The old man ran a hand through his wispy golden hair before settling back into his chair. “Northerners that despise your… love… and you still want the little Stark?”

The Red Viper took a breath. It wasn’t his expertise that allowed him to play the Game. It was Doran, who had learnt all this and practised for years. It was Oberyn’s role to give council and opinions, not to rule or bargain.

Yet here he was sitting across from the most powerful men in the Seven Kingdoms asking for a wife. One that was currently a Lannister ward and an heir to the North. One of the most important pawns in the game at the moment. It wasn’t a small task.

 _It would something that Doran would struggle with_. He thought which made him feel slightly more confident.  

“It would show the faith you have for the Ruling Prince of Dorne. To let a daughter of a Great House marry into another.”

 _Oh fuck. That’s the first thing out of my mouth? To convince the man that ordered my sister’s death to give me his most valuable prize._ He cringed inside as soon as the words slipped from his mouth.

Tywin merely lifted a single eyebrow at Oberyn and said nothing. It wasn’t a good enough answer. Since he asked for the girl- she would be married off quickly unless he could do something.

“The Royal Family needs more allies with this war going on. Why not secure the ties House Baratheon and Lannister have by marrying a Martell and a Stark. It provides you with connection with the Ruling Family, and will make us kin through the Stark girls.” The words fell from his mouth, and the Viper didn’t even know where he was going with this.

_I wish I wasn’t the one doing this. I hate this fucking thing with the words and pleasantries. I want to be in Dorne, with the blunt honesty and the freedom to speak. Isn't the North like that? Maybe that's why they never travel past the Neck._

“Should the North rebel further or again after this war, Arya Stark will be in Dorne as far away as possible from her home.” Oberyn took a cup sitting on Tywin’s desk and poured himself wine from the pitcher. “Sansa Stark would be in Casterly Rock as well. It means that if something were to happen the King In The North, you would hold the heir to Winterfell and have the other spare with allies. But I’m sure it wouldn’t be necessary for the girl to be heir when you have Sansa.” The Dornish man raised an eyebrow slightly.

 _Oh shit. Is it working? Family… Lannisters love their_ family _._

“If the Tully and Stark lines are as fertile as the Lannister line, we would have little Lannister running around with blonde hair and blue eyes who will do as their grandfather asks of them…. Myrcella and Arya would come of age together- both of them bonding could be more support House Baratheon has if the North tried to raise one of the Starks to royalty.”

Tywin’s small lips pressed together and slightly smirked upwards. It was the closest that Oberyn had seen him smile, in the many years the two had known of each other including the time blurry with grief and the faded childhood memories of Tywin. (With slightly more hair) The lion on the older man’s doublet seemed to move with every breath taken. The golden roaring lion that had his gaze stuck upon Oberyn Martell.

“You want to marry a girl who you know nothing about to secure the ties with House Lannister? Would you insult a … paramour with a child-wife? You are a second son who is fourth in line for Sunspear, and she is second after Sansa. Why do you want her?”

 _Why do I want her? So she doesn’t end up like Elia. Elia who ended up dead at your orders, who was raped by the Mountain with Aegon’s blood on his hands._  Oberyn thought. Yet he thought carefully about his answer to the Old Lion. He started picking at a loose thread hanging off his doublet. The red thread pulling out stitches holding the material together.

“If you give me Arya, she will be out of your court. She wouldn’t be injured further by the King, and wouldn’t be accidently killed before she gets married off to some loyal Lord.”  Oberyn paused to take a drink of wine, the Golden Arbor sliding down his throat with ease. “Give her to Dorne and me; we will be faithful allies to the Iron Throne.”

The threat stayed in the air unsaid. _We want her, and we don’t want to betray you to get her._

The Lord of Casterly Rock stood up suddenly, and walked over to the window, his red and golden clothing reflecting the sunlight.  Oberyn stood also, his palm sweaty not from the heat but by nerves. He wouldn’t allow Arya who echoed Elia even though the Northerner looked like Lyanna, the women Rhaegar dishonoured his wife with. But the girl was staying in the place where his sister was killed, getting beaten like his sister was, by another Mad King from incest. The more he thought about it, the eerier the circumstances were. He couldn't let history repeat itself.

In a last attempt, the Red Viper of Dorne blurted out. “We will leave as soon as the marriage is done and the tension between us and the Reachmen will disappear. The Dornish men and women will leave the morning after the girl’s maiden blood has dried on my cock and her legs. If you wish to view the sheets, you may.”

Oberyn Martell swallowed bile after that sentence. He felt the dread climb up his spine and raise the gooseprickles on his arms. There would be no backing out on that statement now. There would be no going back from that with Tywin fucking Lannister witnessing it.

_Fuck. Arya is younger than Tyene and I just swore to the man I hate the most that I would fuck her and show him evidence of it. Oh shit. Oh fuck. She is younger than me by ten-and-nine name days._

The Old Lion smirked as if he knew of the internal battle that the Viper was facing, and enjoyed it. The golden chain of hands glimmered as the sunlight shone off them. “I guess we need to sign a contract then, Prince Oberyn.”

Oberyn Martell kept the smug look on his face, all the while feeling his stomach drop with dread.

_What have I done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oberyn really stuffed up didn't he?  
> While I was writing, I was thinking that for someone who is so impulsive, he wouldn't go in to Tywin's solar with a plan. He would just overlook it. Made me laugh a little while I thought about it and then started writing it.  
> Next chapter should be a new POV. It does have something to do with the pairings.... Who is it going to be?  
> Let me know what you think in the comments section!  
> Comments will help make my day.


	9. Chapter 9

The cave was dark and damp. It wasn't unbearably cold unlike the weather outside with its soft snow that didn't seem to stop and bitter wind coming through the weirwood roots that climbed down from the top of the ground.

 _Nothing that a true Northerner couldn't handle._ The boy mused to himself.

The pale white tree roots that climbed down and around from the top of the cave dripped water often which left them and the cave wet and slippery. For an able bodied person, like Meera it was fine to step on and over. But for Brandon Stark, to climb to the cluster of roots towards the middle of the cave, was difficult with only his hands to pull him up.

Having no feeling in his legs didn't get any easier but he learnt to deal with it. The child who had once fancied himself a grown man with independence to match Robb and Jon, was now reliant on Hodor the stable boy to carry him everywhere. Unable to fight with a sword (or any weapon), Bran relied on Meera and Summer to fend of wights and wildlings protecting him for harm. Jojen was his teacher and instructor and friend but Jojen… He didn't want to think about Jojen any longer.  
  
Looking around the cave, The Stark saw Meera curled up in a small recess in the cave walls deeply asleep. Her bushy brown hair looked like it was a pillow in itself, but he could see the small bundle of clothes that made a makeshift one. She was covered in black cloaks that seemed to swallow her whole yet he could see the greys fur of Summer who sat at her feet, as if to guard her from the night. The slight glimmer of sliver in the dim light showed Bran that the three forked spear was close at hand even in the safety of the cave.

Hodor was sitting among the tree roots, picking up dead and decaying blood red leaves and through them above his head every now and then. One of the only sounds other then mice running across the rocky ground was the soft fall of the leaves. At random intervals, the giant man who mutter “Hodor” happily before grinning at everyone around the small and crowded cave.

“Brandon.” The rough voice spoke and the boy looked to the middle of the cave where the weirwood had moved and grown for many a years to imprison the man speaking. His face was half covered in shadows but the evidence of his heritage was still visible after so many years.  
The Three Eyed Crow hadn't confirmed who he was, but Bran had heard the Children talk about it when asked. After hearing all the stories, it was hard to look at the man and not see Bloodraven in his features. It was hard to ignore what the man Bryden had been instead of what he'd become.

“It is time.”  
The Winged Wolf swallowed thickly, before he tried to pull himself up to where Bloodraven was trapped. The roots were slippery from water droplets dripping from the soil above his head but Bran kept pulling his weight up. Bones from raven and mice were scattered resting on muddy and dead leaves from the weirwood above the cave.

Once he had crawled up enough to touch Bloodraven, Bran sat himself up enough and wiped his wet hands on the woollen breeches he wore on his useless legs. The Stark both reached up with his hand, to grasp the Three-Eyed Crow on the leg. He was little more then bones and skin and Bran couldn't remember him eating in the fortnight that he had been with him. The sun peeked through the gaps and holes that were visible from the roof of the shelter where pale white roots didn't grow though. The boy took a breath.

As soon as Bran Stark pressed his hands onto Bloodraven and the weirwood, he was engulfed with images that only a greenseer would see- the past, the present, the future, what might have been, what didn't happen— the possibility were endless. It was a flood of colours and times and places. It was chaotic and intimidating but The Winged Wolf had the power to see though the madness of it all, he was born to control this power and influence the future.

_A scream from a women tore itself into the vision. The pure and raw grief could be heard in its tones and a howl from a wolf joined in, both of the sounds intertwining until they became one. A small wolf pup, with its feet too big for its body was backed into a corner and pointed at with a loaded crossbow. The howl screamed louder and louder until it seemed that he could hear no more. As quickly as it started it ended and became silent until the thrum of the crossbow could be heard as it arrow was let loose._

_The scene merged into another as a green dragon was flapping its tiny wings, its body giving off heat that would one day matched only by the sun. It tried to growl but succeeded in only blowing out a puff of smoke from its nose. It was no larger then an adult cat but it still seemed childlike with its actions and appearances._

_A man with auburn hair, a long face and vibrant blue eyes stood on a raised stage. He looked shocked with his head scanning the room in front of him and brushing the fur on his shoulders. The scrap of steel being drawn from scabbards and the shout of men as they lifted the weapons above their head. “KING IN THE NORTH!”_

_‘Is that Robb? My family... I want to see my family.’_ The greenseer boy projected the though out into the abyss. The flash of the new scene was too quick, or Bran too slow for it to obey.

_The screams and yells of women, men and children alike entered this vision and his sight was covered with the colour of emerald green flames. The heat was immense and it grew. A mad laugh could be heard, it mixing with the screams of the masses crying out in horror._

_A soft blue winter rose was incased in a tomb of ice. The longer it seemed to freeze, the more it welted, bowing over to it’s death. Suddenly, sunlight shined and the ice that was around the rose melted slowly. Clouds passed overhead quickly, and the winter rose slowly bloomed from its bud. Standing up tall, the stem seemed to grow as the blue petals became more vibrant._

_A man with long silver hair and indigo eyes was standing in a dim corridor, it's walls covered in numerous shelves with heavy hooks. There was a large tomb, bound in brown leather was open on the Targaryen’s knees. He shut the book close and then left the room._  
  
The images from the vision flashed by quicker now. ‘ _My family. Starks. Show me STARKS.”_ The 12 yelled out into the chaos of time, begging it to bend under his will.

_Colours merged into another and a banner flew in the air on top of a red bricked castle that could be only be the Red Keep, the yellow heart covered with red flames on a black background. The crowned stag of House Baratheon could be seen in the heart._

_A white raven flew by- the land underneath covered in a pale and clinical white snow. Bran heard his father’s voice murmuring the House Words_

_A small figured women stood on sand, her long and dark brown hair twisted down her back in a simple looking braid. She wore men’s training leathers and held a dagger in her left hand, but the woman looked utterly at easy in them. She smiled brightly as she turned her head._

_A half dead body stood, its pale face and black rotted hands. Icy blue eyes snapped up quickly, its gaze locking onto Bran._

_Winter is Coming._

_Burn them all. Burn them all. BURN THEM ALL._

_A small splash in a golden cup, a scream of grief and a laugh of delight._

_The rumbling of the Wall, as ice chucks as big as mills fell off it. The sound crunching as it hit the ground. The groan of the unmovable Wall sounded as it moved._

_A fish swimming a river, getting caught up amongst various nets and traps. The blue eyes seem to plead as a human hand drove into the water with more to follow._

_A flock of birds taking to air, the roar of a crowd scaring them off. The sound is deafening but the world seems to stay still in the instant. A small whimper and a loud scream could be heard by Bran._

_Bran saw himself falling from the tower in Winterfell, where Jaime Lannister stood at the empty window frame. Bloodraven’s voice sounded in his head “FLY OR DIE. FLY OR DIE BRANDON STARK.” His body moved closer to the ground and Summer at an alarming speed.  
“Fly or die.”_

 

OOOoooOOO

 

King’s Landing doesn’t smell any better with the changing of seasons, Jaime Lannister thought abstractly as he rode in the capital. He was surrounded by Bolten men and the Beauty as they rode up to the Red Keep. Every step his horse took, was a step closer to Tywin and his distant approval, Tyrion with his dry wit and humour and Cersei…

_Cersei is where I belong. Not at the Rock, not in the Red Keep. I belong inside her with her body pressed against mine, the quick thrill of pleasure and the risk of being caught. It's been almost a year since I've seen her, with the long golden hair and wonderful teats and wet cunt_

The Kingsguard would have ridden ahead of his escort months ago looking like the Warrior come again, basking in the glory that came as you returned from war but months ago he was a whole man. The bastard that took his sword hand took much more the limb. His pride, the skill of being a swordsman, the future of House Lannister and the approval of his father would be tarnished or destroyed.

He had one chance to save the little honour he had and Brienne of Tarth would aid him with it. Catelyn Stark had released him in order to get her daughters back and return them too her protection. Jaime remembered Joffrey’s betrothed that echoed her mother’s Tully appearance with a bright auburn hair and clear blue eyes. Sansa Stark acted much as Cersei had in their youth while she was trying to impress the Crown Prince before Robert rebelled. It was the other Stark girl that Jaime had a tough time bringing to his mind’s eye. Arya had stayed away from the Royals and their guards, and seemed to follow her father around. In a blurry image from Winterfell, he remembered that Arya had dark brown hair that was common in the Starks and grey eyes like Eddard.

“Ser Jaime.” The Beauty spoke, slowing down her horse to match pace with his own. “Gold Cloaks are approaching.” He could hear her unspoken words Your family knows you are here.  
He ignored the wench but waited until more then a dozen men with the billowing gold cloaks marched to the horsed party. One man on a large warhorse, rode right up to the Bolten men.

“Ser Jaime.” He bowed his head slightly to show a balding patch in his frizzy red hair. Unsurprisingly, the man had a look of the Westerlands about him.“Your father knows of your arrival. Lord Tyrion is waiting for you in the Red Keep. and Prince Oberyn.”

Jaime gaped. “The Viper is here? In the Crownlands? Waiting for me?” And not Cersei?

The leader of the Gold Cloaks nodded before looking towards the men that surrounded the Kingslayer, “Will these men-?”

An older man wearing the flayed man on his breast trotted forward a few steps. “We will be staying for a few days before getting back to our liege Lord at the Twins.”

“The Twins?” The Maid of Tarth questioned, her hands tightening on her leather reins. It was evident that she had heard the rumours of the Lord Frey and his many many children and grandchildren.

The man who has spoken to Jaime often on their trip replied. Geoffrey Snow, with his pale blond hair and dark hazel eyes and slow mind. “There is to be a wedding. Lord Tully is marrying a Frey.” The man snickered softly.

The Lion of Lannister tossed the thought around in his head briefly before he dug his spurs into the horse he was riding. He pushed past the men that Lord Roose Bolten had given him as an escort, he ignored the Maid and the men his father had sent down from the Keep as well. He had his family to see, two Stark girls to recuse and an oath to uphold.

 

OOOoooOOO

He returned to the place he had known as home for many years missing a limb and without a welcoming by his sister and father. Tyrion, on the other hand, stood waiting for him to return with a silly smile upon his face and didn't mock his elder brother when he came back a cripple. The Red Viper of Dorne had given him a better welcoming everyone but Tyrion, while he off handily asked who was to blame for his sister’s murder and Ned Stark’s beheading. That was a week ago.

The Old Lion of the Rock, waited for his son to join him in his solar then took one look at the missing right hand and sent him off to the blacksmith to get a golden one. It was if Tywin thought that it won't matter if he'd lost a hand, if it was replaced.

The next time Jaime went to speak to his father, he had been interrupted with an inspection of the golden hand, with the small lions engraved into the metal. Without letting him speak, the older man had gifted the Kingslayer with a new suit of golden armour and half of Ned Stark’s Valyarian greatsword. Wordlessly, his father had allowed Jaime to order a servant to take the items to the White Sword tower, before Tywin tried to kick him out the only thing The Lion of Lannister had ever been good at. The man of six-and-ten namedays, didn't care about the title his son held unless it was heir and therefore had no reservations about Jaime losing the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, which is how he got here.

“I will NOT forced to leave the Kingsguard. I will not be disgraced like that. Besides, it is a role for life, you don't get to pick and choose when you want to leave.” Jaime yelled at Tywin in the Hand’s Solar.

“You will do your duty to House Lannister. If that means that you are to be my heir and travel back to the Rock… well so be it.” The Hand of the King said softly, his calm demeanour infuriating Jaime. Tywin sat at his giant wooden desk that had belonged to Eddard Stark over a year ago answering letters and ravens while glancing up every now and again.

“Fuck House Lannister.” Jaime spat out as he stood up and stomped across the room. He hadn't changed from the riding earlier in the day, and stunk of horse and sweat from many a days without a bath. He had come to see his father as soon as he'd returned into the safety and familiar Red Keep. Look how well that turned out for you. He thought bitterly to himself.

“House Lannister has done nothing for me.” The cripple spat out. “It didn't get me released from captivity. It didn't stop me losing a hand, and it won't make me break my oath now.” His blood was heating up and it didn't nothing to stop the anger slipping from his mouth.

With his pale green eyes and balding blond hair, Tywin continued writing his letters. “We got you realeased didn't we? You aren't being held by Robb Stark any longer. With your escape, the Young Wolf loses his only bargaining chip.”

Jaime looked coldly at his father. “I didn't escape-”

“A technicality” his father assured him

“Catelyn Stark released me-

“Makes no matter.”

“She did it against her son’s wishes and did more for me then you or Cersei or fucking House Lannister.” The mockery dripped from the last of his sentence but Jaime didn't care.

“We won't speak on the matter further. You will do your duty and become my heir, leaving the White Cloaks.”

“I am a man grown. I won't. You have Tyrion to be your heir.” The Kingslayer refused to feel chastised by his father for nothing.

“You can't protect the King with only one hand.”

“Do you want to have a cripple as your beloved heir, father? You’ll be mocked by all of the Westerlands.”

Tywin’s pale gaze shot up to meet Jamie's dark green eyes, “Better a cripple then a dwarf.” The elder man spat out, finally losing his cold and cool demeanour. “Jaime, you have carried on far too longer about this.”

The or else was unspoken but heard clearly by both Lannister men.  
Jaime cocked his head to the side, a silent refusal and matched his stare to his father.

“Or you are no son of mine.” The harsh words were spoken with enough malice to justify them. The Kingslayer knew his father wasn't one for idle threats and meant the words that he had spoken.

 _I can't. I can't leave the Kingsguard, I'll be disgraced and I don't know how to be a Lord. I can't leave my family- but they didn't do anything for me_ …

“I will do my duty to my King.”

The pale green eyes seem to grow colder and harder in a second. The King’s Hand took a breath before speaking in a hushed tone. “On your way, Lord Commander.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, my computer has gotten a virus. Thanks to all those who comment and kudos 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, I would love for someone to try and guess what the vision are about- some of them are straightforward but some of them aren't.


End file.
